Monday, August 23, 2010

This month marks the close of my eleventh year as a Memphian. To celebrate, someone kicked in my door and stole thousands of dollars worth of property from my home.

I thought it would be fun if that actually turned out to be my 11th criminal victimization since moving here, but turns out, it’s only about the 7th or 8th. But good effort, jackholes!

As you may have surmised, I’m in the anger phase right now. I know it seems superficial, but the stages of grief do seem somewhat appropriate here, for although it was only material possessions that were lost, they carried with them a lot of emotional value. Among the stolen items were my high school class ring, the earrings my parents gave me on my 16th birthday, and most of the jewelry I inherited from my grandmother. I know memories can exist without physical tokens (yes, I’ve watched my share of Hoarders), but those small pieces of my past served as happy reminders whenever I wore or even came across them. And now they’re gone.

Also stolen was my laptop, and I have to tell you, the idea of someone having that piece of hardware is more unsettling to me than the fact that they dug through every hiding place in the house looking for drugs and guns. It’s like having someone take your entire family’s birth certificates, Social Security cards, bank statements, and checkbook, plus all your home movies and photo albums. It’s an intensely personal chunk of plastic, and the unease of having it in the wrong hands is far more upsetting than the loss of the machine itself.

I also lost a lot of writing, and, in bad news, possibly my entire iTunes library.

But if there’s anything I’m known for, it’s making the best of a bad situation. Oh wait, no, that’s TV’s Kelly Ripa. Anyway, I’d still like to take this opportunity to help y’all (i.e. other Memphians) avoid this type of scenario by taking a few preventive steps:

Back up your computer. Right now. NOW. And then keep doing it regularly, ideally through an off-site service like Mozy.com (which allowed the more disaster-prepared resident of my house to share his data rather than lose it all outright).

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Somewhere along a path strewn with New Yorkers, Netflix envelopes, and gin, the husband of a dear friend became a dear friend of mine. In honor of his big birthday, and because it’s really hard to find a card that isn’t dumb, I present:

Wednesday, August 04, 2010

We’re in the buffer zone this week. Miss M has started back at school, but Mr. Baby (and every other student in Memphis) is still home until mid-month, so I’m easing into the fall routine with only one child to get ready and dropped-off in the morning. It’s so easy I can hardly take it. We’ve been ready and in the car so early, and so completely unencumbered by traffic, that one day I got her to school before the doors even opened. I know this will all come to a (literal) screeching halt when I have to drag her little brother out of bed to join us, and then crawl our way through the students and parents heading to the six other campuses along our route, but for now, I’m enjoying this gentle beginning.

We especially needed a smooth start after the fun but exhausting trek north for Corn Capital Days. Our flight to Minnesota was diverted due to severe storms that landed at the airport at the exact time we were supposed to, adding an extra two hours (and one-hour 10pm nap) to our trip. The next few days brought swimming, horseback riding, golf cart hijacking, playground roaming, sweet corn gobbling, parade watching, and candy chasing, with the kids and their cousins moving in a loud but generally peaceful pack while the adults enjoyed the time to catch up and relax. As it does each year, the reasons why my parents drove us 40 hours round-trip every summer growing up became even clearer to my sister and me. The small town safety and 2:1 ratio of grandparents to parents granted those of us in the middle generation otherwise impossible spans of child-freedom.

Perhaps the most exciting element of the trip, however, was Mr. Baby’s own freedom. Last year, he was terrified of everything: flying, dogs, horses, sirens. But this year, he sat in the window seat without a problem, pet every dog he saw, groomed and rode Cha Cha’s horse, and ran out into the street to grab candy from a blaring fire engine. My pride in him about split my heart. I hope he takes that same confidence and bravery into his new preschool classroom this year. And maybe our smooth mornings won’t have to come to an end after all.